


a minksei fic for seis-butt

by Blueberrydragon



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberrydragon/pseuds/Blueberrydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mink is walking in the rain when he encounters virus and trip, who have just gotten rid of their toy sei. He decides to take the ijured boy in, and takes care of him from then on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a minksei fic for seis-butt

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic writted for tumblr user seis-butt. I hope they enjoy it.

Takes place in AU where Sei is rescued from oval tower by virus and trip, and then kept as their toy for a while.

 

This was a big storm. It might even be the biggest one that mink had ever witnessed on this small island. Heavy gusts of wind, loud lightning strikes, and rain that made him feel like he was walking under a cold waterfall. No order to it, just a cold, wet inferno. The wind tugged on his hair, loosening it from under his headband and making it fall in front of his eyes. He could barely see anything, and the way the wind howled into his ears, he couldn't really hear anything either. No wonder he walked right into them.   
Those two blond ones, toue's past underlings. What were they doing here? Weren't they killed when the tower collapsed? Well, that didn't matter, because if the tower failed to kill them, he was going to. Right now. Toue's friends were his enemies.  
They had already started running, and he was just about to do the same, when something stopped him. A sound? No, no way he could have heard anything over the wind's howling. This was more like a sound in his head. Although very weak, he could feel it. It felt like... A silent whimpering? No, more like... a hand. A frail, weak hand, holding on to his ankle, begging him not to leave. He looked down at his feet, but no hand was there. Was he hallucinating? No, there was definitely something here. Or more likely, someone. This feeling he had, he had felt it before. From that little blue boy, Aoba. Someone like Aoba was here.  
He looked around. Where had those twins come from? He was certain they had something to do with this.   
There was an alleyway, just a few steps ahead of him. Had they come from there? They could have, so it was definitely worth checking out.   
The alley was shielded from the wind, and as soon as he went inside it he found he could hear again. However, it offered no protection from the rain, and it was still very cold. He turned his head to look around. That feeling he had was definitely stronger here. He could feel that invisible hand tugging at his coat, begging him to help.   
And there he was. Completely naked, lying on the ground. He had absolutely nothing to shield him, no coat, no clothes. No, it was obvious he had been left here just recently. Those two blond ones, that must have been what they had been here for. They could not even be bothered to kill him properly, so they just left him to die on his own. Mink despised them now more than ever.  
He didn't have time to stand there and contemplate what to do, though. This boy was completely naked, it was cold out, and on top of that it was raining. He was going to die of hypothermia if Mink didn't do anything, fast. So he did the only thing he could do. He took off his coat, wrapped the boy up in it and started running home.  
***  
When he reached the old, abandoned apartment complex, he was almost sure that the boy was already dead. He made his way through the rubble hiding the entrance and through the long, empty corridor leading to the stairs that would take him down into the cellar, where he lived. The reason he had to live down there was partially that it was the easiest place to keep warm, as all the floors above ground level had their windows broken, resulting in wind blowing straight through the apartments and their empty rooms. The other reason was that if he lived up in the building, anyone would be able to see him if he made anything like a fire to keep himself warm at night. And as a gang leader and ex-convict, he didn't exactly want to be discovered by just anyone.  
He closed the stairway door behind him, and started making his way to the boiler room. It was the easiest room in the building to keep warm, and thus the room he slept in during cold weather like this. He looked down at the boy in his arms. God, he was so pale. His lips were blue from the cold, and Mink couldn't feel anything like a heartbeat or a breath from him. Was he already dead?   
The room he lived in didn't have much in it. There was, of course, the boiler, and with that a number of pipes meant to supply the building with heat and hot water. None of that worked anymore, but he found the broken boiler made a decent fireplace, that when lit wound heat up the pipes connected to it and keep the room relatively warm. Then there was an old bed that he usually slept in that stood in a corner of the room, and a couch, much closer to the boiler, that he slept on when it was really cold out. The Scratch logo was painted on the floor, and a few old books in his native language were stacked by the bed. A wardrobe with a few extra clothes and blankets stood in the far corner of the room. No fridge, and no electricity. All the food he had here was canned and neatly stacked under his bed. He sure didn't have many possessions, but then again, he didn't exactly feel that he needed them. His worth was in his actions, not his material wealth.  
He laid the boy down on the couch, close to the boiler, then he started resurrecting yesterday's fire, as quick as he possibly could. As soon as the fire was going, he went over to the wardrobe, got a few of his extra blankets, and then started unwrapping his wet coat from the boy's cold body. He hadn't noticed before, probably because of the rain, but the boy was injured. His body was covered in bruises and cuts, as if he had been beaten and then slashed with a razor. He also had marks which Mink recognized to be from a whip, and his fingers looked like they had been crushed. Mink pressed his ear against the boy's chest. It was cold as ice, but he could definitely hear a faint heartbeat. Thank god, the boy was alive...  
He gently lifted the boy of the couch, removing the cold, wet coat from underneath him and replacing it with a warm, woolen blanket. He wrapped the boy in another two blankets, then he picked him up and held him in his lap to warm him up faster. He placed his hand in front of the boys mouth to feel if he was still breathing. He was, but with shallow, weak breaths. At least he was still alive.  
Mink really didn't know why he was helping this person. He wasn't really known for being a man one could rely on for help, let alone this kind of self-sacrificing actions. So why was it that he took the boy in? Maybe it was because he needed a cause, a reason to live. Now that Toue was dead, he didn't really have anything to live for. And yet, he was still alive. Was this why? To save the life of this boy, who was the same as Aoba? Was this boy an entity of destruction as well, in that case? If he was like Aoba, he had to be.  
Mink looked down at the boy in his arms, whose breathing had now started to become a little more normal. His pale face had gained a slight blush, too, but only so slight. He looked like he'd survive. Mink sighed. What the hell was he doing? Well, it didn't matter now. He had already taken the boy in, might as well go all the way and tuck him in. He stood up with the boy still in his arms, turned around, and then he stopped in his tracks. Should he put him in the bed, with an actual mattress, or on the couch, close to the warm boiler? He looked down at the boy again. He was probably still cold... Mink pressed his cheek against the boy's face to check. He was still cold. The couch seemed to be the best option, the heat radiating from the boiler would keep him warm and snug in his blankets, and hopefully he wouldn't get too sick.  
Mink bent down, gently placing the boy on the couch. He went back to the closet to get the last of his spare blankets. As he placed a pillow under the boy's bead, a sudden thought flew through his mind. The boy kind of looked like a little caterpillar, the way he was lying there, all wrapped up in his blankets. Mink looked at the boy's face. He sure was pretty, with thick, dark eyelashes, slightly pink lips, and shiny dark hair framing his face. He made Mink's mink wander to the image of a beautiful porcelain doll. Yes, that's what the boy was like. A frail but oh so beautiful work of art, and a symbol of perfect, designed beauty. No, he didn't seem like a work of nature at all, now that mink thought of it. He seemed like the result of a human attempt to create perfection. Like a product of intelligent design. Maybe he was.  
Mink decided to stop thinking about the boy for a while. It was late, and no matter how tough mink looked, he still got tired and sleepy, like any human would be, eventually. So he decided that it was time to sleep.   
He took the bed, even though it was cold. After all, he didn't know this boy, and sleeping right next to him now would be to impose himself on him. So, he decided to bear with the cold bed, and went to sleep.

The room was warm when he woke up. The fire in the boiler seemed to have died out, as only a few glowing pieces of charcoal remained, but the boiler itself and the pipes surrounding it still radiated heat. The room was dimly lit now, with only the faint red glow from the charcoal illuminating it. Everything was quiet, except for the sound of faint, calm breathing. Mink looked over towards the couch. The boy was still there, and mink could see that his eyes were still closed. From what Mink could tell, he hadn't moved at all during the night. A bad sign.   
Mink sat up on the bed, swinging his feet over the edge and onto the floor. He sat there for a few seconds, then he stood up. He swayed a little, still not completely awake yet. Then he crouched down, reached under the bed and pulled out a can of tomato soup. He opened it, poured it in a pot and then went over to the boiler. As he walked past the boy, he noticed something. The boy's eyes were open.  
Mink almost dropped the pot. He was awake? And he hadn't noticed? Wait a minute, was he REALLY awake though? He didn't seem like he was looking at anything, his eyes were just kind of... Open. Mink sat down on the floor, next to the boy. His pale cheeks were flushed red, his eyes were watery and distant, and his breathing was fast and erratic. Mink placed his hand on the boy's forehead. No doubt, he definitely had a fever. Not that it was a surprise, Mink had been pretty sure the boy would get sick. As frail and skinny as he was, he had to be malnourished, and would probably get sick from much less than this.  
Mink thought about what to do. First of all, the boy was probably better off without all those blankets to keep him overheated, so he started with unwrapping them. He brought his right arm in under the boy's back, placed his large hand under his shoulder, and gently lifted him up to pull the blankets out from underneath him. When he was done, he gently lowered the boy down on the couch again, and proceeded to pull the blankets out from under his legs. Still, he didn't remove all of them. He left the boy with one blanket to keep him from getting cold. The room was warm, but no matter how hot a feverish person is, you shouldn't leave them without a blanket. It would only get worse if the boy went cold again. Mink sighed. What the hell had he gotten himself into?  
While Mink ate his soup, The boy's fever went down a bit. He looked better now, without all those blankets smothering him. His breathing was a bit calmer, though he was still visibly sick. Mink tried to make him drink water, but it was difficult, and his attempts mostly resulted in the boy's cheeks and neck getting wet. He didn't even try to feed him the soup, as it would probably have given the same result, only a lot messier. Mink shook his head. He was anything but sure about whether or not this was the right thing to do, taking care of a stranger like this. But he didn't exactly have anything else left to live for, after Toue's death, so he might as well do this. The boy on his couch needed him right now, needed him to survive. And he, he couldn't help but think that it was nice to be needed and depended on by someone. It gave him a feeling of purpose, but not at all like before. What he used to see as his purpose had been to get revenge, for the death of his tribe, and that purpose had filled him with hatred and resentment. But this purpose, this was different. He felt no hate, no resent, no anger. All he felt now was a need to protect, to care for and to help the boy on his couch. And maybe, he thought, he should just accept this new purpose. Because what reason was there to fight it? None. So he accepted what the gods of his ancestors had given him. His new life.


End file.
